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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/23617714">(Stealing your Heart was) the Perfect Crime</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/a_case_for_wonder/pseuds/a_case_for_wonder'>a_case_for_wonder</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>All For The Game - Nora Sakavic</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>(kind of), Canon-Typical Violence, Implied/Referenced Drug Use, Implied/Referenced Sexual Assault, Implied/Referenced Suicide, Kiss Kiss Bang Bang AU, M/M, actor!Neil Josten, author did not research anything about the film industry for this fic, detective!Andrew Minyard, the moriyamas and trojans are talent agencies</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-04-12</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-04-24</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-02 17:00:52</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>5</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>11,191</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/23617714</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/a_case_for_wonder/pseuds/a_case_for_wonder</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Neil is just trying to lay low in LA - the last place he should be while his father's empire is still being dismantled - when he stumbles into a film audition and is instantly swept back into a world he thought he'd left behind fifteen years before. The worst part? He has to shadow Detective Andrew Minyard to study for his role. </p><p>But when Minyard's case turns out to have ties not just to the film industry, but to Neil's own past, it might be in both of their best interests to work together. After all, who better than a cop and a mob brat to pull off the perfect crime, and finally bring the Moriyamas down?</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Neil Josten/Andrew Minyard</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>32</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>200</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. Death in a Tarot Card</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>A made a slightly joking post about this AU on tumblr literal years ago. I never thought I would actually write it, but here we are, and I'm having a lot of fun with it? So. Have a somewhat loose "Kiss Kiss Bang Bang" AU (does anyone even remember that movie?,) featuring quips, weird shirts, a mutual competency kink, Neil being far too good at getting rid of a dead body, and my usual over-enthusiasm for italics. Enjoy! </p><p> </p><p>Work title inspired by the Decemberists' "The Perfect Crime #2," the song that made me finally write this fic down. Chapter title from Panic! at the Disco's "Dying in LA" </p><p>If you like, take a listen to the (maybe unorthodox, for Andriel) playlist I made for this fic <a href="https://open.spotify.com/playlist/79BiNDnKt5BDHf9BEqoxLg">here</a>   </p><p>warnings for this chapter: vomit (brief,) references to sexual assault, unhealthy drinking, references to drug use</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Los Angeles is the last fucking place Neil Josten should be. He should have left weeks ago, what with his parents still fresh in their graves and the Moriyamas circling each other like sharks in the bloody water, waiting to see who will bite first. <em> Hide. Run. Don’t get noticed,</em> whispers his mother’s voice. <em>Getting noticed is getting killed. </em></p><p>He’s supposed to be laying low. That’s what he promised Stuart. But laying low put limits on his movements, which meant not being able to get to his next stash, which meant running out of money. Plus, he <em>likes</em> LA, against all odds. Against all sense. He hadn’t wanted to leave. All of which had lead to an admittedly ill-advised burglary attempt that ended with Neil ducking into a fucking audition to avoid the cops and now...this. </p><p>“Don’t worry, you’ll be fine,” the man climbing out of the taxi behind him assures him. Knox, Neil thinks he said. His smile is as wide and sunny as California itself. Neil doesn't trust it. “You’re a total natural, I can’t believe no one else has snatched you up yet.” He claps Neil on the shoulder, and either ignores or totally misses his slight flinch. “These screen tests are gonna be a total breeze for you.” </p><p>Screen tests. For the movie Knox wants to cast him in on behalf of Trojan Talent. Neil wants to put his face in his hands. He wants to get back in the taxi and tell it to drive. Except. Except he really doesn’t have any money, and it turns out robbery is not his strong suit. And if he shouldn’t be in LA, he really, really shouldn’t be in <em>jail</em> in LA. So he hikes his backpack a little higher on his shoulder, and follows Knox to the too-lush hotel, and then to a too-shiny office for contract signing and a bunch of other bullshit that requires signing his name far too many times for Neil’s comfort. And then to-</p><p>“Why are we at a police station?” Neil stops dead in his tracks, whole body suddenly leaden. Knox looks back at him inquiringly. </p><p>“Weren’t you listening in the cab?” Neil… may have been a little too distracted by circling thoughts of his own impending doom to listen to particulars. He searches his memory for something about this. </p><p>“...some kind of immersion thing?” he hedges after a moment. Knox had seemed very excited about it. He thinks. He’s proved right when Knox nods, that beaming smile turning back up to full. </p><p>“We’ve got a consultant. A detective, has a pretty light case load, so he does this on the side. Lets guys like you shadow him a bit so they get the feel for what he does. Helps them sink into the role, you know? It’s great. Hey. You okay, man?” </p><p>They’ve reached the large glass doors of the police station. Neil cannot get over how monumentally fucking stupid it is that he’s about to step into an LAPD building. He might be sweating from more than the sun. He offers Knox a weak smile, and a gesture he hopes means “after you.” While Knox is pulling on the heavy door, he bolts. </p><p>“Hey!” Knox’s voice snaps after him, but Neil can’t slow down now. He has to get away-away-away-away-BAM.</p><p>His progress is halted from somewhere around his gut, sending him sprawling out onto the pavement. When he looks up, it’s into the blankest face he’s ever seen. </p><p>“Going somewhere?” The man takes a pull on his cigarette while Neil wheezes on the pavement. </p><p>“What is-” Neil gasps, pushing himself to his hands and knees, stomach turning over from the force of the impact. He wretches up what’s left of his breakfast, a little satisfied when flecks of it land on the man’s shiny, shiny boots. Which, Neil realizes, looking at them, are probably what hit him in the first place. “-your fucking problem?” </p><p>“What’s yours?” the man asks, as Neil struggles to his feet. Before Neil can put together a good lie, Knox comes rushing around the corner. </p><p>“Neil! What on earth- oh! I see you met the detective.” </p><p>“Sorry. Cab ride didn’t agree with me, I think. Didn’t want to hurl on the carpet,” Neil covers quickly, gesturing at the pile on the pavement. Knox wrinkles his nose. Then Neil’s brain catches up to the rest of Knox’s statement. “Detective?” </p><p>The smoking man raises an eyebrow at him – he’s even shorter than Neil, now that Neil’s standing, but something about his posture makes his presence radiate. He’s dressed in all black in defiance of the LA heat. His neat, tucked button down is open at the collar, and at least appears to be linen or something. There’s a chain around his neck. He gives it a tug, eyes never leaving Neil’s, until the badge emerges, swaying mockingly in Neil’s face. Well, shit. </p><p>“Detective Andrew Minyard, LAPD,” he says. His eyes flick to Knox. “What kind of rabbit have you brought me this time?” </p><p>And so the day goes from bad to worse. Neil doesn’t need to be told that Detective Andrew Minyard is an asshole – the boot-shaped bruise on his gut is proof enough. But by that night, he is starting to think he might be a psychopath. The man’s face seems to never move. His voice doesn’t inflect. Neil can respect the disregard for social niceties, but Minyard is a fucking brick wall. Neil doesn’t know how Knox expected him to learn anything when Minyard won’t talk.</p><p>“I thought I was meant to be shadowing you,” Neil complains, tugging at his borrowed clothes as he follows Minyard up the walk to a lush estate, toward the sounds of drunk laugher and bassy music. “This looks like a film party.” </p><p>“It is,” Minyard says without turning. “It’s an assignment from my latest private client.”</p><p>Neil frowns at his back, tense. “You’re allowed to have those?” If he’s been saddled with a corrupt cop, it doesn’t matter how desperate his financial situation is. He has to run. </p><p>“Technically, no. But the Chief lets it slide because I don’t charge, so I’m able to take cases where I can-” there’s a slight hesitation in his voice, or maybe it’s the edge of a grimace. “-help. The real money comes from suckers like Knox anyway.” It’s the most words Neil has gotten out of him all night. They comfort him, a little. Minyard is an asshole, yes, but so far he doesn’t seem like a liar. A sucker, maybe, if he’s really doing pro bono work that often, but that’s none of Neil’s business. </p><p>“So who is this client you’re working for now? What are we looking for?” </p><p>“Confidential.” </p><p>Of course. </p><p>The party is dense, loud, and dripping with booze. Bodies in varying states of undress wander past Neil, some making drunken grabs he has to awkwardly dodge. Minyard shoves a cup of something strong smelling into his hand, giving Neil an unimpressed look when he tries to hand it back. </p><p>“You’re at a party. Try not to look like a murder victim waiting to happen.” Neil scowls, taking a sip of the drink. It’s a strong as it smells, sending a shot of heat to his brain after just a swallow. Minyard rolls his eyes.</p><p>“You don’t have to drink it if you don’t want to, just hold onto it," he says. "Look, you wanted to see the job? This is the job. You watch people. You learn about them. And you can’t do that if you look like a cop.” Minyard seems to consider him for a moment before adding “or the pizza delivery guy.” </p><p>Neil tugs at his clothes again. As if it’s his fault that the shirt doesn’t fit – it had come out of Andrew’s wardrobe. Neil came to Hollywood to do a film shoot. He hadn’t expected to have to provide his own costumes. But Andrew had given him one up and down look and declared they would get thrown out if he showed up like that where they were going. So somehow he’s ended up in a pair of artistically ripped jeans and a black button down patterned in flamingos. It might have almost been trendy if it fit, but the shoulders are so wide on him that the effect is more “bowling shirt” than “funky but fashionable.” </p><p>It’s not as though Minyard has dressed up. He looks like he might be headed to the gym, in black jeans and some kind of sleeveless sweatshirt, black compression sleeves just a little too bulky to be entirely aesthetic covering the lower half of his arms. The chain around his neck glints against his collarbones, but it could easily be mistaken for the kind of necklace half the men here seem to be wearing. </p><p>Minyard holds up his phone, pointing it toward Neil. “Smile, Rabbit,” he says. Neil doesn’t miss that his gaze is somewhere over Neil’s left shoulder. Whatever he’s taking a picture of, it isn’t Neil. It’s not much of a comfort. “Jesus, you call that a smile? I thought you were an actor. Blend the fuck in, will you?” </p><p>“Fuck off, you’re one to talk,” Neil tells him, ignoring the way the comment cuts, the way it sounds like <em>Don’t get noticed. Getting noticed is getting killed.</em>  Minyard’s mouth stretches in response, shark-like. </p><p>A gaggle of spray tans in swim suits push by him, almost knocking Neil to the side. He turns with them, using the motion of it to try to get a look at whatever Minyard was photographing. The only thing behind him is a large window into whoever’s mansion this is. And in the room-</p><p>Neil’s blood goes cold. He turns back toward Minyard in a daze, raising his cup and taking a very tiny, very slow drink. He can’t be here. <em>He can’t be here. </em></p><p>“What is it this time, Rabbit?” Minyard is suddenly right in front of him, crowding into his space. There’s booze on his breath. His face tilts up around Neil’s in a gesture that might look like intimacy, from a distance. </p><p>“This is Tetsuji Moriyama’s house,” Neil says. The words make his mouth feel numb. </p><p>Minyard’s eyes narrow, just slightly. He raises the phone in his hand like he’s taking a photo down at their faces, but Neil knows it’s capturing the figures in the window behind him. “Ten points to Neil,” Minyard says calmly. “Yes, NEST is hosting this party. Is that an issue?” </p><p>NEST. New Evermore Syndicated Talent. The Moriyama’s agency. Neil can’t tell him. Neil absolutely can not tell him. But if Neil can’t tell him, that means they can’t leave. He takes a drink. The alcohol burns through his sinuses, into his gut. He’s reminded he hasn’t eaten since the breakfast burrito that ended up half on Minyard's shoes. “No. What can I say? Star struck, I guess.” The lie tastes like his drink is coming back up. He takes another swallow to push it down. </p><p>“Interesting,” is all Minyard says. And then he abruptly turns on his heel and slips into the thick of the crowd. </p><p>“Wait. Minyard, I’m supposed to be-” Neil blinks, the haze of the drink hitting him already. Minyard has vanished with surprising grace for someone with such an opaque presence. “-shadowing you,” he finishes at a murmur. </p><p>The bass line of the party is a physical thing, timed to an array of flashing lights that make even the wide California night feel like the inside of a club. Neil’s pulse is keeping pace in double time, shivering in his chest, up his neck, until he has to swallow around the beat of it just to breath. He downs half his remaining drink in one gulp. Minyard will collect him eventually. He just has to survive until then. He backs up along the wall of the house, only for the front door to open behind him as he passes it, a tall body stumbling out against his back. </p><p>“Sorry.” The soft accent guts Neil before he can turn around, but he makes himself do it. Jean Moreau stares down at him, dazed and pale. There’s a bruise blossoming on one side of his jaw; the smaller nip over the top of it makes it a lovebite exactly the way a cherry on top makes a pile of shit a sundae.   </p><p>“Jean,” the man says, instinctual, sticking out a hand with a practiced wry smile. Neil shakes his clammy palm. </p><p>“Neil.” </p><p>The man squints at him through the haze of lights and whatever the hell he’s got in his system. “Do I know you?” </p><p>Neil hasn’t worn his natural hair or eye color in over a decade. He hasn’t seen Jean in another five years besides that. “No,” he says, and makes his escape. </p><p>Someone changes the music, and the mood of the party swells further, hot and raucous around him.  Panic is a storm of static shocks under Neil’s skin, and there’s nowhere to hide, nowhere to run. Someone shoves another drink into his hand, a pair of sticky lips at his cheek. He looks down at the cup, and wonders if there’s any use not compounding one bad choice with another. <em>Hide. Getting noticed is getting killed, </em>the voice in his heads says. And then another voice. <em>Blend the fuck in. </em>He drinks. </p><p>The party is a blur after that. Neil finishes the drink in his hand. Only, he’s still holding a cup, and there’s still liquor in it. He drinks that too. Someone shouts<em> to the fuckin’ NEST, baby! </em>He needs to- he needs to leave. He can’t leave. He needs to find a quite goddamn corner, but every secluded spot is already taken with half naked bodies in twos, threes. Someone is offering him another drink. Or something to eat? He hasn’t eaten, right? His stomach feels like a lump of clay. <em>It’ll loosen you up, come on man! Join the party! </em>Neil can feel the plastic grin on his face and doesn’t remember putting it there. <em>Blend the fuck in.</em> That’s what he’s doing, right? He’s supposed to be- he’s supposed to be-</p><p>“No, Gordon.” </p><p>A hand is around his upper arm like a vice, jerking him away from whatever the man was offering. Neil has a hard time following what they’re saying. Everything is lost in the music in his throat, the lights in his skin. </p><p>“Didn’t know he was one of yours. It’s just a little molly, man.” </p><p>“Not for the virgin, Seth.” </p><p>“Didn’t seem like he was.” </p><p>“He’s a good liar.” </p><p>Neil’s mind follows the threads of the argument in sluggish beats. He thought he’d been offered a drink. Why does it matter if he hasn’t had sex before? Neil isn’t even interested in sex, so he really hopes it doesn’t matter. Minyard is staring. His eyes are so dark in the flashing lights they might as well be black holes. </p><p>“Thank you for the unsolicited personal information, but not what I meant,” he says tiredly. Oh. Had Neil said that out loud? “Come on, Rabbit. Time to go.”</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. a Well Dressed Man in the Crosshairs</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>chapter title from "The Perfect Crime #2" by the Decemberists</p>
<p>warning this chapter for: implied references to sexual assault, non-explicit gun violence</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Neil wakes up without opening his eyes, more hungover than he’s ever been in his life. His head is pounding, his stomach a trembling, sour thing in his gut. When did he get so stupid? Stuart would kill him if he could see him now, throwing away his freedom like an idiot teenager. He takes a deep breath in through his nose. Why had he drank so much? He’d been at one of the Moriyama manors, that much he remembers. And he’d needed to get away because-</p>
<p>“Jean,” he murmurs, half a groan. </p>
<p>“You know Jean?” says a voice from much, much too close. </p>
<p>Neil’s eyes snap open. He scrambles to get off the bed, only for his back to hit a wall. “What the fuck?”  Kevin Day is lying next to him in the bed. Why is <em>Kevin Day</em> lying next to him in a bed? “Where am I?” </p>
<p>“My place.” Minyard wanders into the room in rumpled sweats and a t-shirt, eyes flicking over Neil, like he’s cataloging the flavor of Neil’s panic. “Only one guest room. Don’t worry, Day knows if he touched you I’d have his balls.” </p>
<p>“You used to threaten to take my legs,” Kevin says, bafflingly familiar.  </p>
<p>“That was when we thought they might work again one day.” </p>
<p>Neil watches the two of them bicker as his pulse slowly winds down. He’s expecting Kevin to snap at Minyard, famously arrogant bastard that he is. But he just shrugs where he’s lying and offers a lazy “Fuck off.” His wheelchair, a product of the accident that had all but ended his acting career the year before, is propped next to the nightstand.</p>
<p>“Don’t you have a pining public to get to?” Minyard asks. Kevin groans, levering himself up and then smoothly into his chair. </p>
<p>“Worse, breakfast with Chief.” </p>
<p>“Don’t let him take you to Skinny’s. Their coffee is shit.” </p>
<p>“I’m not an animal, Andrew. I’m not letting him take me to a cop diner.” And with that, Kevin Day, international movie star and former ward of the family that definitely wants Neil dead, is out of the room. </p>
<p>Neil just stares at Minyard from across the breadth of the bed for a long, stunned moment. “Uh,” he manages. “Friend of yours?” </p>
<p>Minyard snorts meanly. He ducks into the nightstand, which turns out to hide a mini-fridge, pulling out a sports drink and tossing it to Neil. Neil catches it in weak, shaking arms. “Just an annoyance I can’t seem to be unsaddled with. Now,” his gaze sharpens, pinning Neil in place. He gently closes the bedroom door. “Are you going to tell me why being at a NEST event compelled you to drink yourself into oblivion, or am I going to call my boss and ask him to look into why the name <em>Neil Josten </em>doesn’t show up in any registry before last year?” </p>
<p>Neil freezes with the bottle halfway to his lips. Automatically, his eyes dart to the door. </p>
<p>“Oh no, little rabbit,” Minyard says softly. “No running this time.” He drags a nearby chair closer to the bed, blocking the door, and straddles it backwards. “I’ll tell you what. Ask me a question first. A truth for a truth.” </p>
<p>Neil considers him, discards things that aren’t worth knowing and things he doubts Minyard will admit to anyway. He settles on the most immediate. “How many knives are in your armbands?” </p>
<p>Minyard’s eyebrow raises slightly, the only sign Neil has caught him off guard. “Four,” he says. “Two in each.” </p>
<p>“That doesn’t seem like standard LAPD issue.” </p>
<p>“It’s not.” Neil waits for Minyard to elaborate, and is surprised when he actually does, if slightly. “They were a gift. Now talk.” </p>
<p>He can’t tell Minyard much, but he has to tell him something. Tentatively, Neil sketches out a version of the truth, loose and with enough invention he doesn't feel completely stripped raw, but hopefully enough to satisfy. He had spent time in the Moriyama’s youth talent academy as a kid, he tells Minyard. His father had worked there. His father had not been a kind man, and eventually Neil’s mother had taken him and run, taking with her a hoard of money it turned out his father had been embezzling from the company. They’d run for years, until he had finally caught up with them six months ago. The confrontation had ended with both his parents dead. Neil has been running alone ever since. </p>
<p>He admits, since it feels silly not to at this point, that he found his way into the audition by accident, although he doesn’t mention just who he was running from, that time. If Minyard guesses, he doesn’t let on.</p>
<p>In fact, Minyard doesn’t speak more than a few prompting words the whole time Neil talks. His expression never shifts, and when it’s over, he just looks at Neil for a long, considering moment. It’s as flat a look as ever, but Neil suddenly doesn’t find it as unwelcome as he had before. There’s something undeniably soothing about the way Minyard doesn’t gasp or fuss as he tells his story, the way his eyes flick neatly to Neil’s scars when he mentions his father’s abuse, only to settle back on his eyes without so much as a drop of pity or horror. Just cool, clinical assessment. </p>
<p>“Do you believe in fate?” </p>
<p>It’s so unexpected it takes Neil a moment to summon an answer. “No. Do you?” </p>
<p>“Luck, then,” Minyard tries. Neil laughs. </p>
<p>“Only the bad sort.” But Minyard’s expression has finally shifted. It looks like he’s thinking something over. “Why?” Neil ventures. </p>
<p>“Kevin is not just an acquaintance. He’s my client. I am protecting him while I work to build a case against NEST Agency for long term abuse of certain contracted employees.” </p>
<p>It’s a punch to the gut. “Jean,” Neil breathes, helpless. Minyard nods. Neil had seen the news, the month before. Jean Moreau, hospitalized. Attempted suicide. He’s only just been released. And then last night- “I- I knew him a bit. When we were kids. Kevin doesn’t think it was self-inflicted?” Neil asks. He’s long suspected Kevin’s “accident” hadn’t been that at all, but Kevin has never made any public allegations. </p>
<p>“Worse,” Minyard says grimly. His hands are wrapped in a white-knuckled grip around his own forearms, around the blades beneath his sleeves. “He thinks it was.” </p>
<p>Neil can’t really wrap his head around suicide, but it doesn’t surprise him that whatever Jean might have suffered, it’s gotten worse lately. Kevin’s departure for Trojan Talent after his accident had been a blow for the NEST, one Neil suspects the branch family had yet to recover from when Kengo died and threw everything into chaos. He doubts Riko has taken the death of his father and the subsequent ascension of his estranged brother with good grace. </p>
<p>And so, against what should be all his better judgement – not that he’s ever had much of it, Stuart would say – Neil doesn’t run. Instead, he eats breakfast in Detective Andrew Minyard’s kitchen, and they plan. It starts with Andrew – Minyard is his brother, he insists – laying out the groundwork of how he plans to build his case. Unfortunately, the grim reality is that their best hope is to catch Tetsuji or Riko in an active act of abuse. Andrew’s photo from the night before is only damning if Jean says it is, and well, it’s impossible to say if he will. So Andrew has made plans to stake out various Moriyama properties over the next week to try to gather evidence. They aren’t bad plans, but they aren’t perfect, and eventually Neil can’t help offering his input. </p>
<p>“You need to get closer,” Neil says at one point, indicating a map between them. “The Master keeps things close to the vest. Like, the flash-drive with their financials on it is literally in his cane. He’s not going to do something prosecutable next to a first floor exterior window.” </p>
<p>If Andrew is surprised by Neil’s tactical insights into LA’s criminal underworld, and the Moriyamas in particular, he doesn’t show it. He takes Neil’s advice for what it is, and they rework the plan. And then rework it again. In between, they get to know each other. Neil tells Andrew, in vague terms, about some of the places he travelled through while on the run. </p>
<p>In return, Andrew tells Neil a little about himself. That he knows Kevin because his boss, Wymack, the detective who got him onto the force, is Kevin’s father. That his twin brother is a doctor in Chicago, and he has a niece on the way. That he went to college on a soccer scholarship – goal, he says in a bored voice – which leads to a mostly one-sided debate about the embarrassment that is US Men’s soccer on the international stage that ends with Andrew having to wack Neil gently upside the head to drag him back to the task at hand. </p>
<p>Neil spends three days like that. Long days around Andrew’s kitchen table, taking breaks to smoke on the crowded balcony, telling Andrew about Phoenix, Seattle, Rome. Nights in the plush hotel room Trojan is renting him, wondering why the loneliness, dulled after months of laying low, suddenly feels so sharp again.</p>
<p>It’s nearly sunset on the third day of their planning when Neil realizes he hasn’t thought about an exit route other than the ones on their maps in hours. It feels good, to be taking action. Neil feels good. He feels <em>comfortable, </em>here, with a man from the LAPD whom he has known for all of four days, planning a takedown of the NEST. The realization is so bizarre Neil excuses himself to the tiny bathroom just to process it. When he emerges, Andrew just hands him a cup of coffee, watching Neil in that way he has, like he knows exactly what Neil is thinking. </p>
<p>“Ready?” he asks. The first stake out is tonight. The lake house. </p>
<p>Neil isn’t. But when has he ever been ready for anything? “Sure. Let’s go.” </p>
<p>It always catches Neil by surprise, how cold it can get at night in California. The lake house is far enough above sea level that the temperate air that hugs the ocean has dissipated; when the fog rolls in after sunset, it raises goosebumps where it clings to the back of Neil’s neck. They park almost a mile away from the property on the side of a hiking trail, and wind their way through the trees by the low light of a red flashlight. The gnarled roots of the forest look bloody with it, and Neil shivers in a way that has nothing to do with the cold. </p>
<p>A few feet ahead, Andrew isn’t doing much better. Despite his leather jacket, it looks like he’s fighting not to shiver. When Neil catches the side of his face in profile, he looks nothing short of miserable. </p>
<p>“Why do you do this, anyway?” Andrew doesn’t look back, but he tilts his head to the side in a way Neil has already learned means <em>elaborate.</em> “The pro-bono work, I mean. Wouldn’t it be better for your career if you took more cases with LAPD?” </p>
<p>Neil isn’t sure how Andrew is allowed to keep his arrangement, actually. Police forces aren’t known for their laise faire policies with their employees’ schedules, as far as he knows. </p>
<p>“I do not care about my career,” Andrew says disdainfully, which isn’t an answer. A few silent moments of trudging later, he continues, monotone. “It would have been better for my career if I wasn’t the first out gay detective in my precinct. Alas.” </p>
<p>Neil’s mouth is moving before he can quite stop it. “Oh. So you and Kevin-”</p>
<p>“No.” If Andrew were anyone else, Neil would have sworn he sounded almost amused. “Kevin may not be as straight as he likes to think he is, but he wouldn't know a no if it choked him. Like I said, he’s a responsibility I have yet to be able to rid myself of.” </p>
<p>“I think other people call those friends, actually.” </p>
<p>“How would you know?” </p>
<p>He has a point, there, but Neil isn’t about to admit as much. “We’re getting close.” The forest is thinning as they approach the edge of the lake, which sits between them and the actual house. Neil is just about able to make out the shine of it through the trees when they hear it. The unmistakable keening sound of a man being killed. </p>
<p>Andrew’s gun is out practically before the cry is done echoing through the trees, and they’re running. They’re making too much noise, really, but it’s hard to focus on that because someone was just stabbed, it sounds like, and <em>Jean is still out there somewhere and-</em></p>
<p>Andrew throws up an arm as they breach the treeline. A group of figures is huddled around a car by the shore. They’re too far for Andrew to get a good shot off, even if it were possible to tell who any of them are. What is unmistakable, though, is the shape they heave roughly into the trunk of the car before slamming it shut.</p>
<p>Everything is moving too quickly. Suddenly Neil is running again, and so is Andrew. Someone catches sight of them and a few errant gunshots ring through the trees. Then the figures at the shore are running to their own car, peeling down the gravel road too fast for Neil to follow, and somehow the other car is rolling into the lake, faster and faster, about to sink its cargo into the depths. </p>
<p>“We have to get to it!” Neil shouts. Andrew only grunts in response, pushing himself faster. He drops his gun on the shore and dives into the water, reaching the car with only the rear end still sticking up from the surface. He growls in frustration as he pulls futilely at the locked trunk. Neil’s heart is pounding a mile a minute. If that’s- if there’s a chance he isn’t- He picks up Andrew’s gun from the shore. </p>
<p>“Move!” </p>
<p>Andrew dives to the side instinctively, and Neil shoots. The bullet hits home, driving through the lock of the trunk, and the lid yawns upward with a groan. Neil barely has time to register his own incomprehension at what he sees there before he is flat on his back in the dirt, Andrew dripping wet above him, one forearm pressed to his throat. </p>
<p>“What the fuck do you think you’re doing?” </p>
<p>Neil gasps beneath him, fighting his own instincts to get away. “There wasn’t time,” he wheezes. “Had to get it open.” </p>
<p>“It was already too late, idiot. He was already dead,” Andrew snaps. “Only now-” he picks up the gun, shakes it in Neil’s face. “-there’s a bullet from my personal, registered <em>fucking</em> weapon in the body, so we can’t take this to the cops.” With a wordless snarl, he flings the pistol as hard as he can into the dark water. Then he gets up and stalks back toward the woods. </p>
<p>Unable to do anything else, Neil follows. Behind them, the unmistakable body of Riko Moriyama sinks into a watery grave.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>oh, we're in it now...</p>
<p>Thanks for reading! &lt;3 Tell me what you think!!</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0003"><h2>3. Feelin' for the Hole in Your Head</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>posted in less than a week bc I finished the epilogue this weekend and A Bitch Is Excited. Yeah you'll notice the chapter count has gone up to 5. That's the epilogue! It'll probably go up this weekend with chapter 4! I'm pumped! </p><p>Chapter title from the Decemberists' "We All Die Young" (a jam) </p><p>Warnings for this chapter: references to dealing with a dead body, some physical violence</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Neil wakes to the phone in his hotel room ringing. He thinks he gave Andrew his room number, but no one else besides the folks at Trojan should know he’s here, and none of them have a reason to call him at – Neil squints at the beside clock to make sure he’s reading it right – four in the morning. Uncertainly, he picks up the receiver. </p><p>“Hello?” </p><p>“Nathaniel?” </p><p>Neil’s first instinct is to slam the phone back on the receiver as hard as he can. He only manages to restrain himself when he recognizes the voice, softly accented and quiet, like he’s trying not to be overheard. “Jean? How did you get this number?” </p><p>“Doesn’t matter. Nathaniel-”</p><p>“It fucking does matter. And it’s Neil, or I’m hanging up on you.” </p><p>There’s quiet on the line for a beat, just Jean’s breathing. It sounds slightly labored. “Neil,” he tries at last. “You’re working with Minyard.” It isn’t a question. Maybe it’s an answer, Neil isn’t sure. </p><p>“Yes,” he says anyway. “Why?” </p><p>“I need-” Jean cuts himself off. His breath hitches again over the line. “Riko is dead.” </p><p>A strangled keen. Gunshots. A car, sinking into the depths of a lake. “Why are you telling me?” </p><p>“I don’t know. I had to tell someone. You’re- when I realized who you must be. You must understand, Neil. He- I don’t-” Jean shudders. “He’s <em>dead.</em>” He says again, with dreadful emphasis.</p><p>Neil remembers crouching in a pool of his parents’ blood, Stuart standing over them with a smoking gun, and not knowing how to feel. Not knowing yet if he was free or thrice-dammed. He’s still not sure he knows. </p><p>“Jean,” Neil says, a touch desperately. “Let us come get you. I’ll figure out the details with Andrew and Kevin. We can deal with the Master. Just tell me where you are.” There is another long, painful silence.</p><p>“You can’t,” Jean says. Neil starts to protest, but is cut off before he can get a full word out. “Goodbye, Neil.” With that, the line goes dead in his hand. </p><p>He feels like he’s hardly slept at all by the time his room buzzer rings at 8 – Knox, there to take him to breakfast. Neil feels like death warmed over with lack of sleep, but it’s nothing he hasn’t worked through before, and maybe once he takes full advantage of the diner’s bottomless coffee he’ll feel human enough to endure Knox’s cheerfulness with good grace. </p><p>“So, how’s it going with Detective Minyard? Do you feel like you’re learning something?” </p><p>Neil finishes his third cup of coffee, finally feeling steady enough to start on his meal. “Yeah. It’s uh, going well.” He can’t tell Knox what they’ve really been up to, of course, but it’s easy enough to skirt the edges. </p><p>“We did a kind of stakeout, practice shooting, some other stuff. I feel like I’ve learned a lot about the way he observes things, you know?” Andrew, pinning him with a gaze from the back of a chair. Handing him a cup of coffee when he was done panicking in the bathroom. Andrew over cigarettes, filling in the gaps without Neil asking him to. Andrew, spilling some of his own truths out in turn, a messy canvas between them, honest as sunrise. “Uh. The way he takes in the world. It’s interesting.”</p><p>When Neil looks up from his food, Knox is frowning in polite amusement. “What?” </p><p>“Nothing,” Knox shakes his head, easy smile returning. “I’m glad, really. Just surprised. Minyard’s good, and he’s good to learn from, but I don’t think anyone we’ve had work with him before has actually gotten along with him.” </p><p>Neil shrugs. “I probably wouldn't get along with those people,” he admits. Knox laughs like it’s a joke. </p><p>The rest of their brunch goes well enough; they make plans to meet up the next day for Neil’s first round of screen tests at Trojan, and then Knox is dropping Neil back at his hotel. Neil is tired. He’s meeting Andrew later for more planning, so he goes to take a shower with hopes it’ll be enough to keep him moving. </p><p>Riko Moriyama’s corpse is on his bathroom floor. </p><p>“Neil? Neil. <em>Neil.</em>” He doesn’t remember picking up the hotel phone, or dialing the number to get Andrew’s voice at the other and of it. He scrambles for breath, for words, for something that isn’t damming in case there’s someone else on the line. </p><p>“I don’t have money for a cab,” he says. “Think you can pick me up?” </p><p>His voice must sound wrong enough to tip Andrew off, because he doesn’t argue. Neil can hear the sound of the car over the line as Andrew cuts his way through the snarl of LA’s never ending traffic. The line is still open by the time the buzzer for his room rings, and he hears Andrew’s voice over the phone say “You can open it. It’s me.”</p><p>Neil stumbles to the door and lets him in, sliding the deadbolt closed behind him. Andrew raises an eyebrow, but just walks across the room to gently hang up the receiver before tucking his own phone away. Neil collapses onto the edge of the bed, so strung out he feels vaguely untethered. </p><p>“What is it?” Andrew asks. “Are you hurt?” Neil clenches his fists in his lap, squeezing his eyes shut.</p><p>“Bathroom.” Andrew reaches for his elbow, and Neil realizes he’s been misinterpreted. He shakes his head. “No. Go- the bathroom.” </p><p>Andrew does. Neil stops breathing as he watches Andrew stand outside the door, staring in, his face unreadable as ever. Andrew closes the door carefully, then just stares at it some more. “When?”</p><p>Neil is having trouble inhaling. “It was there when I- back from- Knox,” he manages. </p><p>Andrew walks over and stands before his hunched body. Neil stares down at those shiny, shiny black boots. He watches Andrew’s body lower until Andrew is crouched in front of him, staring up at him with those flat, serious eyes. “We will have to get rid of the body. How is your breakdown?” </p><p>Neil feels his body try to laugh, a gasp raking its way out of his throat. “Andrew.” He doesn’t have anything else to say. He can’t <em>breathe.</em> A hand lands on the back of his neck, forcing his head between his knees. </p><p>“Breathe, Neil,” Andrew says. His thumb is rubbing tiny circles into Neil’s hairline. “Come on. What do we have to do?” It shouldn’t work. It does anyway. Neil breathes, and focuses on the circles, and he tells him. </p><p>They do get rid of the body, but in such a way that it will eventually be found, and not before Neil leaves a few particular knife marks that will identify it as a yakuza kill. It takes too long, dredges up too much. Neil is more exhausted than ever by the end of it. He feels twitchy in his own skin, like he’s him and all the ghosts of the boys he used to be all at once, Chris and Stefan and Alex and <em>Nathaniel </em>all crowding up at the first whiff of death. </p><p>Andrew restrains himself to a single comment about how Neil is probably too good at these sorts of things. Then they head to Andrew’s place. Neil is prepared to go back to his hotel, if only to keep up appearances, but Andrew shoots him down impatiently. </p><p>“What do I tell Knox? He’s supposed to be picking me up tomorrow.” </p><p>“Who cares? Tell him you’re coming from a club. Tell him I’ve been holding you hostage. Tell him I’m fucking you. It doesn’t matter. What matters is you staying alive.” </p><p>They spend the ride in silence after that. They’re almost to Andrew’s when Neil says “Is that uh-” his brain is still fumbling, fighting off the sense memory of a dead body in his hands. “is that something you do often?”</p><p>It takes Andrew a minute. “Fuck? Some of us do, Neil,” he says, a little tense but not quite mean. </p><p>“No. Well, Knox’s people specifically, I guess,” Neil clarifies, unsure why he’s even asking. Andrew snorts. </p><p>“The actors he brings me for detective coaching? Sure. Enough of them are queer, and usually more looks than brains. So yes, if they seem like they can follow instructions.”  He catches Neil’s frown almost before Neil does. “Does that bother you?” </p><p>“No,” Neil says, honest. “Why should it? I was just-” He doesn't know what he was asking. “Never mind.” </p><p>They’ve pulled into the lot for Andrew’s building. Andrew turns to him across the gearshift, suddenly intent. “Neil,” he bites out, “it is not a requirement for working with me. I do not touch anyone who does not want me to, and I expect the same in return. Are we clear?” </p><p>It helps, though not entirely. Maybe it’s just the whole fucking week that’s got Neil on edge like this. He nods tiredly. “We’re clear.” </p><p>Andrew excuses himself to his balcony as soon as they’re inside. Neil puts his things down in the guest room and shuffles about aimlessly for a while. On his eighth loop through the kitchen, he finds the balcony door cracked open, and makes his way out. Andrew is already lighting him a cigarette by the time he leans against the railing. </p><p>It’s quiet, Los Angeles murmuring along several stories below them.  Neil breathes in the smoke, ignores the way his scars itch, and tries to settle. They don’t talk. There isn’t anything new to plan, for now. Neil has his screen test tomorrow, so Andrew is going into the precinct in the morning, and on a small stakeout on his own after that. </p><p>Andrew’s apartment is on the wrong side of the building to see the sunset, but they watch as the sky over the hills turns purple, then pink, then the dark, orangey grey that is the closest it ever gets to true night in the middle of the city. Neil watches Andrew, too, the way his profile sharpens in the gathering dusk. LA suits Andrew, Neil thinks, in an odd, ironic sort of way. The pale colors and wide vistas and grimy streets. The odd melancholia of its evenings. </p><p>“Staring,” Andrew murmurs at one point, not looking at him. Not right then, anyway. But Neil thinks he has been. He wonders what Andrew sees. </p><p>“I’m sorry,” he says. Then, because that isn’t quite what he meant, “about your gun.” </p><p>Andrew just sighs tiredly. “It was a good shot,” he says. “and it doesn’t matter now.” </p><p>Neil falls into the guest bed still in his clothes, the scent of smoke clinging to him, and sleeps like the dead until morning. </p><p>He doesn’t tell Knox that Andrew is fucking him, but it turns out that for people whose lives don’t revolve around crime, suspicion isn’t second nature. Not even when the body of Riko Moriyama is found that morning. Knox doesn’t even question the change of plans when Neil makes a vague excuse about breakfast, just tells Neil where to meet him so they can hit the ground running. </p><p>Trojan Talent is bright and welcoming. Neil feels entirely out of place in his borrowed shirt, this one blue with a truly bizarre pattern of cats in sailboats – apparently Andrew’s cousin keeps sending them. It’s utterly incongruous, being here after where he was just yesterday. But it’s familiar, too, in a way he’s tried to forget for fifteen years. The bustle of a studio. Knox hands him a script, and they spend  the morning and half the afternoon running sides. </p><p>Neil’s character is a Hollywood classic: a hot shot rookie detective with a dark past and not enough to lose. It’s laughably fake and too real all at once, and Neil thinks <em>fuck it </em>and throws himself into the work. It’s not quite familiar. He hasn’t read off a script since well before puberty, but he’s been acting his whole damn life. It’s easy enough to get a little lost in this, when it means forgetting the utter clusterfuck that is is real life beyond these doors. </p><p>Knox, for his part, is beside himself with delight. The only snag comes when he asks hair and makeup to grab Neil some colored contacts – he wants to try Neil in baby blues, apparently – and Neil has to awkwardly admit he’s already wearing some. But Knox is all easy dismissal, then all excitement when he declares Neil’s natural color <em>perfect, exactly what I was imaging.</em> Then there’s a sound from the doorway. Neil looks. Kevin is frozen halfway across the threshold, staring at him with wide, startled eyes. </p><p>By the time they wrap up for the day, Knox is glowing. He shakes Neil’s hand too hard on the way out, reminding him they’re doing his official tapes in three days. Neil is halfway out of the building when he realizes he has a shoulder-height shadow following him. He stops with his hand on the door leading out. </p><p>“I don’t want to talk about it, Kevin.” </p><p>“Are you really him?” Kevin asks softly. Neil stiffens. </p><p>“Not anymore.” But it’s still an admission, and the pained sound Kevin makes behind him still tears right through his heart. They’d been his friends, once, little boys with nothing but dreams. Now look at them all. He doesn’t know what else to say. He doesn’t expect what Kevin says next. </p><p>“You know, you really were a natural in there.” </p><p>Neil laughs shakily. “You always had a one-track mind, Kev.” He pushes the door open, holding it while Kevin follows him out. </p><p>“I mean it,” Kevin insists. “I mean, your camera awareness is sloppy as shit, but you’re a hell of an actor. If And- if we get this worked out, I could get you a permanent contract. You could build a life here.” </p><p>It’s too good to be true, even if it were possible. Neil is busy feeling sorry for himself when the first punch lands. </p><p>Two attackers. Fists, clubs. No knives. A punch lands in Neil’s kidney and he almost goes to one knee. Fuck, he’s tired. His elbow connects with a sternum, his fingers find flesh and hair; dig, scratch. A shoulder checks his temple and now he is down, cheek bouncing and scraping hard against the hot asphalt. A kick in his stomach, right over the healing bruise; his last meal on the ground again. </p><p>It’s ruthless, rough, and out of fucking nowhere, but by the time the security Kevin frantically calls shows up, the two thugs are already gone, slipped down an alley to god-knows-where, leaving Neil to cough and bleed on the ground. Neil’s only saving grace is the fact that it doesn’t seem like the thugs were instructed to kill him. It’s a warning: back down before it’s too late.  </p><p>“Are you alright sir?” Someone is asking. Neil’s head is swimming, but he waves them off as he tries to get up. He can’t make out their faces. He doesn’t want to be touched. His body gives out halfway to sitting and he falls back, gasping. </p><p>“Neil.” That’s Kevin. Neil manages to turn his head blearily as Kevin comes closer, holding out a hand in offer. “Come on, get up. I’m taking you to Andrew’s.” </p><p>Andrew’s. That’s- good. Neil will be safe there. He takes the offered hand, using Kevin’s elbow and then his shoulder to push himself the rest of the way to standing. The world swims in and out of focus in time to the pounding in his head. Kevin corrals Neil into his car, and Neil watches with unfocused fascination as he navigates the levers and buttons on the dashboard to drive. </p><p>“Fancy,” he mumbles. Kevin shrugs. </p><p>“Luckily, I can afford the best.” </p><p>Neil drifts in and out of sleep after that. He hears voices, Kevin’s saying<em> wherever you’re going, don’t. </em>The car stops. He thinks someone might be carrying him. He can smell cigarette smoke, and it doesn’t help his head but his body relaxes. More muttering over his head while he’s settled onto a soft surface. <em>Concussion</em> and <em>guest room. Do you know who he is? </em>and <em>I’ve guessed. He will tell me when he can. </em>He hears the word <em>safe. </em>Then, he’s asleep. </p><p>He wakes in a dark room to his head pounding for the second time in a week. There’s no body in the bed with him this time. Instead, Andrew is asleep awkwardly in an armchair. Even in the dark Neil can tell they aren’t in the guest room. Which means he’s in Andrew’s room. In Andrew’s bed. </p><p>“’ndrew?” </p><p>Andrew’s head jerks up, his eyes flying to Neil’s in the dark. He gets up and walks over. “How are you feeling?”</p><p>“Like shit,” Neil admits. Andrew lays a hand against his cheek. It feels surprisingly nice. “Why aren’t you in bed?” </p><p>“Kevin’s in the guest room,” Andrew explains, voiced pitched quiet in the night. “I’m not letting either of you out of arm’s reach until this is over, and I needed to make sure you didn’t have a concussion. Go back to sleep, you need it.”</p><p>Neil blinks up at him slowly. The orange glow of the window catches the edges of his hair like a halo. He looks tired. Neil scoots closer to the edge of the bed. “Easier if you’re closer,” he says. He’s not sure it’s a very good excuse, he just thinks it might be nice if Andrew were lying here instead of in the chair. It might feel safe. “Come on, it’s a big bed. You can have the wall. ‘Said you’d done this before.” </p><p>Andrew’s hand tightens on his face, then lets go immediately when Neil winces at the way it pulls the fresh scabs. “That is not what this is.” He sounds almost angry, or maybe tired, or maybe something else. Neil is too sleepy to tell. </p><p>“Mm,” he agrees. “Get in the bed, asshole. You need sleep, too.” </p><p>Neil is too out of it to register surprise when Andrew does, climbing up from the foot of the bed to settle against the wall, a foot of space between where they lie in the dark. He manages to turn his head toward Andrew, who hasn’t closed his eyes, watching him. “You’re safe,” Neil mumbles, and means it both ways. </p><p>“You’re a menace to society. Go to sleep.” </p><p>Neil does.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>**eyebrow waggle** </p><p>Thanks for reading! Chapters 4 and 5 coming soon! Would love to hear your thoughts in the comments, and if you give the playlist a listen, tell me if this fic reminds you of any songs! I've been on a song-fic pairing kick lately and I'd be just tickled if anyone has recs for me/this story. &lt;3</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0004"><h2>4. You Still Want to Stay</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Here are the final 2 chapters! Chapter 5 is an epilogue. Whoo! </p><p>Chapter title from Cake's "The End of the Movie" which I highly suggest listening to even if you're not a playlist person. It's basically the soundtrack to these chapters. </p><p>warnings for: ill-intentioned hospitalization, lighter than canon violence</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Neil needs to stop waking up in the middle of the night. It’s been too long since he’s slept well – a week, or a month, or a lifetime. At least when morning comes this time, he wakes feeling safe. When he opens his eyes, it’s to Andrew watching him guardedly from where he’s shoved his own body against the wall to sleep. “Morning,” Neil whispers. </p><p>Slowly, Andrew reaches out a hand. Neil doesn’t know what he’s after until his thumb taps gently at the thin skin below Neil’s eyes, still blue. “Liar,” he says, almost soft. </p><p>It hurts in a way Neil doesn’t know how to name. “I know. Andrew, I need to tell you-”</p><p>“Stop,” Andrew says. “I know. You don’t have to.” </p><p>And Neil- Neil can’t quite wrap his head around that, around Andrew knowing, and being here. But he knows it means something. “I want to.” He just doesn’t know if he can, right now. </p><p>Neil chews his lip until Andrew nods. It’s more of a relief than anything, he realizes, that he doesn’t have to say the name Andrew will know. Instead, he chooses another. </p><p>“Abram,” he says. Andrew’s hand is still resting on the side of his face, a light, grounding pressure. “It’s the name my mother used, sometimes, before we ran. It’s the only piece of my name that was… mine.”</p><p>Andrew shuffles closer on the bed, close enough that Neil can feel the heat of him, the hairs on his arms rising. “Abram,” he says, like he’s weighing the name in his mouth, and there’s no mistaking his intent when he says, “Yes or no?” </p><p>“Yes.” </p><p>It’s a careful sort of kiss, until it isn’t, and Neil doesn’t know what he expected but it was nothing like this, this rush of heat like a shot to every vein. Andrew presses him down into the mattress and Neil just tries to stay afloat as the wave of it overtakes him, scarred hands clenching on soft sheets. It’s exhilarating. It’s soothing. It’s being in the eye of the storm and it’s being the storm and it’s- over, eventually, when Andrew stumbles off of him and backs away from the bed, flushed pink in the morning light. And Neil, well. Despite everything, Neil can’t help but be glad he’s here. </p><p>Which reminds him. “You were headed to a stakeout,” Neil says. Andrew, still standing in the middle of the room, cocks his head. “Yesterday afternoon,” Neil clarifies. </p><p>“Oh. Day saved my ass, actually,” Andrew says. Talking seems to kick him into gear, and he starts gathering clothes, including some for Neil. “When he was driving you back, he saw the thugs who beat you up following my car. Dumb luck.” So Moriyama’s thugs had gone after Andrew, too. </p><p>As he turns to leave the bedroom, Andrew turns his body into Neil’s again, a question. “You may not remember, you were blasted, but. At the party. You implied you were not interested in” Andrew makes a frustrated shake of his head, jerking a finger between the two of them, “this.”  </p><p>Neil shrugs, oddly at ease. “I’m not, usually.” He holds up a hand when he sees the flash in Andrew’s eyes. “I wouldn’t lie to you about this, Andrew. It was a yes.” He pauses, dares to lean a few inches closer. “It’s still a yes,” Neil tells him, and Andrew relents, presses one more slow, firm kiss against his mouth. When he pulls back, his eyes search Neil’s face for a moment, though for what Neil couldn’t begin to guess. He just feels warm, warm, warm. Whatever Andrew finds, he steps back slowly, passing the pad of his thumb over Neil’s lips, turns, and heads out of the bedroom. </p><p>When they emerge into the kitchen, Kevin is staring down at his phone, pale. He startles when Andrew pokes him in the shoulder. </p><p>“Jeremy Knox called,” he says. His voice is far away. “Jean’s been re-admitted to the hospital. Tetsuji Moriyama’s left the country. Rumor has it NEST is liquidating.” </p><p>The news is like a bucket of ice water over the remnants of the warmth of that kiss. Neil had assumed that the thugs from the day before had been sent as a warning to stop interfering. But if NEST is liquidating, it was – is – more than that. It’s a parting shot. It means <em>don’t try to follow.</em> He wonders, suddenly, if they were supposed to let him live after all. If Kevin hadn’t followed him into the parking lot… Neil sits heavily on a kitchen chair as the implications crash over him. </p><p>Combined with Riko’s death, it paints a chilling picture. Now, Jean’s strangled voice on the phone means so much more. <em>He’s dead. </em>Not a plea, or not just that. A warning. If Ichirou was willing to take out his own brother, what wouldn’t he do? </p><p>“We need to get to Moreau,” Andrew says, picking up Neil’s train of thought. “He’s a hell of a loose end. If the Moriyamas are cleaning house-” He doesn’t have to finish that thought. Then he pulls out his own phone, keying in a speed dial before Neil can ask who he’s calling. </p><p>“Walker,” he says into it, “I need backup.” </p><p>Kevin drives them – Andrew grumbles, but even he has to admit his low slung sports car isn’t suited for Kevin making a speedy entrance and exit. Morning rush hour grinds around them. Kevin’s hands twitch anxiously at the dashboard. Neil stares out the rear window at the highway, wishing he could just get out and run. He can’t help thinking he’s brought this on all of them. Maybe if Jean hadn’t inexplicably recognized him. Maybe if he hadn’t shot the trunk with Riko’s body in it. Maybe if he’d just left LA and run like he was supposed to. The rising heat of the morning crawls by. Maybe, maybe, maybe. </p><p>“Stop thinking so loudly.” A cigarette appears in Neil’s field of vision, the tips of Andrew’s fingers at one end. Neil sighs and accepts it, taking a long drag and then just letting the smoke filter past his face and out the window in a slow swirl, and focuses on breathing. </p><p>Detective Renee Walker is exactly the kind of woman Neil’s mother warned him about, which figures, since she’s Andrew’s occasional police partner and best friend. She’s a pretty floral sheath over a quick, sharp knife. She’s deadly, but they need that right now; need her neat blonde bob and no-nonsense smile, the way she talks the four of them into a goddamn psychiatric hospital like this is totally normal police procedure. Kevin reaches out a hand as they near the inner doors, wrapping Neil’s wrist lightly. When Neil turns, Kevin looks so nakedly afraid Neil’s stomach turns over in his gut. He takes a slow breath and gives Kevin a firm nod. Kevin squeezes his wrist once and lets go. </p><p>The inside of the hospital is neat and beige and futilely antiseptic, the way all hospitals are. Walker gets them in the front door, but it’s still a battle to get someone to take them to Jean, who apparently has been declared violently unstable and unfit for visitation.</p><p>“Is he suicidal or homicidal? Pick one,” Andrew snaps. The line of his shoulders is a taught cable ready to break. </p><p>The attendant frowns lightly. “According to Mr. Moreau’s psychiatrist, it is not in his best interest to receive visitors at this time,” she says. </p><p>The attendant might not see the way Andrew’s hackles go up further, but Neil does. It’s subtle, but it’s enough to have him scanning for exits- which is how his eyes catch on the nurse making his brisk way up the corridor past the swinging plexiglass doors. “Andrew,” he says urgently, already moving, and hears Kevin’s gasp as he sees the same thing Neil does. “that’s one of the men from the parking lot.” </p><p>Neil doesn’t wait for permission. He shoves past the attendant and through the swinging doors, racing after the receding glimpse of white scrubs. He skids around a corner to see the man ducking into a patient room, and pushes himself faster, reaching for the door before the man can lock it-</p><p>Pain explodes through his hand and up his wrist as the man shoves the door, slamming Neil’s hand against the jamb, Neil’s forehead colliding with wood and plexiglass. Black spots crowd his vision as he sags to his knees, gasping. Everything from his wrist down is one blinding spot of pain and he tries to hold onto it, wrap himself around it, use it to ground himself but it’s <em>too much </em>and the world is woozy and spinning, refusing to come into focus. </p><p>Footsteps race up behind him. A body slides deftly past him through the doorway. Someone says<em> Stop right there! LAPD, put your hands up, sir.</em></p><p>Someone is crouching in front of him. A cool hand wraps itself around the back of his neck. “Neil? Neil, look at me.” Andrew. </p><p>Neil squeezes his eyes shut. When he opens them, the world is a little clearer. He makes some kind of noise and starts to stand on legs gone wobbly with adrenaline. Andrew must decide it’s not worth fighting, because he grabs Neil’s good arm and hauls it over his shoulder, dragging Neil upwards and into the open room. </p><p>Renee Walker is neatly clicking a pair of handcuffs onto the wrists of the imposter nurse. A syringe full of god-knows what lies innocently on a tray beside the bed. She guides him deftly from the room as Neil and Andrew enter. On the bed is a lone figure, still as a corpse in the fluorescent light. </p><p>“Jean,” Kevin pushes into the room, voice choked. When he reaches the bed, Kevin takes Jean’s limp hand in his, resting his forehead against it on the rail. Neil only truly breathes properly when Jean finally opens his eyes, squinting up at them blearily. And then oh, oh. Neil hadn’t realized how afraid he’d been. He leans against the rails of the bed beside Kevin, and lets the relief of Jean’s <em>alive alive alive </em>crash over him like a wave.</p><p>“It’s over,” Kevin says quietly. “Riko is dead, the Master is gone. NEST’s contracts will be dissolved.” He looks back and forth between Jean and Neil. “Come work for Trojan. Both of you.” </p><p>Neil wants to, more sharply than he’s wanted anything in a long time. And if the Moriyamas really are out of the picture, maybe- his head snaps around toward Andrew. “There was a second thug, in the parking lot. He had a partner, he could still be here som-” </p><p>A loud CRASH sounds from somewhere outside the building, followed a second later by a distinctive, wailing car alarm. Beside Neil, Kevin lets out a strangled laugh. “Guess they chose the wrong getaway vehicle,” he says. It’s so absurd that, despite everything, Neil can’t help but laugh too. </p><p>It’s late by the time the four of them stumble back into Andrew’s apartment. Andrew had insisted on getting Neil’s hand seen to. An inch higher, the doctor had said, and he could have risked losing fingers; instead there’s a snug black brace wrapped around what is thankfully just a couple of broken knuckles. Neil putters slowly after Andrew as he gets Jean settled in the guest room and Kevin on the couch. They’re all exhausted, but Neil is unsurprised when Andrew heads to the balcony, leaving the glass doors open behind him. </p><p>It’s still the same ramshackle corner of LA it’s been for the past week, but somehow it looks different, now. Neil breathes a shaky sigh around his cigarette, just watching it.</p><p>“What?” Andrew asks without looking at him. Neil doesn’t answer him right away, but he can feel the grin that must be curling on his face, the warmth bleeding from his chest until his whole body is alight with it, a pleasant glowing hum like the meandering traffic below. </p><p>“It’s just weird,” Neil tells him. “I’ve never felt like this before.” </p><p>“Happy?” Andrew’s tone is unimpressed. Neil laughs. </p><p>“Maybe. But no- free, I guess.” He isn’t, really. Won’t ever fully be. There’s always the chance someone could come for him. But with his father dead and the Moriyamas withdrawn from the city, it feels pretty damn close. </p><p>When Neil looks at Andrew, Andrew is already looking back, considering. “You’re a mess,” he finally says. </p><p>“Yeah,” Neil agrees. </p><p>“Do you-” Andrew stops himself, and it’s the censure that really gets Neil’s attention. He sees the tick of tension along Andrew’s jaw, the way his fingers flex around his cigarette. </p><p>“What?” he asks. Andrew doesn’t answer. “Okay. Truth for a truth.” </p><p>Andrew sighs a stream of smoke. Closes his eyes. “Where will you go, after this?” </p><p>It’s not a question Neil was expecting, but it makes something bright light in his chest. Something like hope, he thinks. “I like LA,” he says. “If Kevin can really make it work, I think I’ll stay here.” He pauses, mulling over his question in return. Maybe it’s the fact that Andrew’s eyes are still shut that gives him the courage to ask “If I stay, do you want to-” </p><p>He pauses. Andrew opens his eyes, and the breath leaves Neil’s lungs. “Do I want to what, Neil?”</p><p>The words don’t feel right. Neil tries again. He reaches out a slow hand, brushing it just over the edge of Andrew's sleeve. “This. I want to… to see where this goes. This feels like something, to me.” </p><p>It isn’t a question. It’s an offer, a line Andrew can choose to grab onto, or not. Andrew turns his hand until it slides over Neil’s, and picks it up. “Me, too.” </p><p>For the second time that day, relief hits Neil like a tidal wave. He sags forward, and Andrew just reaches out and pulls him in. Andrew’s cheek presses to the side of Neil’s head, Neil’s forehead resting on his shoulder, a few inches of careful space still between their bodies. For once, there are no voices in Neil’s head. Only warm, warm, warm.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>now onto the mushy epilogue!</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0005"><h2>5. Epilogue - One Year Later</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>This is it! I couldn't resist a good sappy epilogue for this one.</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>“So? What did you think?” Neil asks as they slip out of the theater. Rather than answering, Andrew busies himself with straightening Neil’s collar and suit, which are askew from two hours of trying and failing to sit still in the cushy velvet seat. Today’s shirt is a deep purple with a pattern of shooting stars. Neil has a sneaking suspicion that Andrew bought this one special. </p>
<p>“It was certainly a movie,” Andrew says eventually. But Neil had seen the way his fingers twitched on the arm rest. Had noticed Andrew hadn’t wasted his breath on a derisive comment past the first twenty minutes. “I don’t know how they expect you to disappear into roles. You are unmistakable.” </p>
<p>Neil grins, loose and bright. “Only to you,” he says, and it’s the truth. </p>
<p>The premier after party is stuffy and boring, but Kevin corals the lot of them out of it and into a nearby bar before Neil can run his mouth in front of too much press. Suit jackets come off, ties get loosened. Renee, who Kevin invited as his plus one in thanks, trades out her shoes for some kind of slippers she apparently had in her purse. The six of them – including Jean and Jeremy, who seem rather attached to each other lately – crowd into and around a big booth in the back where they can pretend not to be famous for a few hours. </p>
<p>Sort of. In practice, they’re fairly bad at talking anything but shop. It drives Andrew crazy. </p>
<p><em>“The only choice you have left is pickin’ how you’re gonna die,”</em> Kevin drawls, laughing, mimicking Neil’s character from the film. He points a lazy finger gun Neil’s way; when he pulls the trigger, Neil mimes catching the bullet in his teeth. Renee snorts indelicately into her mocktail. </p>
<p>“Hey, not all the dialogue was that bad!” Jeremy says, but he’s laughing too. </p>
<p>“It was,” Jean says, patting his hand consolingly. “But it will make a lot of money.” </p>
<p>There’s a round of assenting whistles at that.  They all know the film is nothing but a popcorn blockbuster, but it’s still huge for a debut, and Jeremy his insists Neil will have his pick of roles before long if he can keep up the good work. Not that Kevin will let him do otherwise, Neil thinks. He’s talked Neil into acting classes, getting better at playing to a camera and emoting beyond his personal space. </p>
<p>It’s hard, sometimes, to feel things so loudly, even when it’s pretend. Some days it’s so exhausting he curls up in the spare bed rather than the one he now shares with Andrew, too raw to be seen. But Neil chose this life, and he likes it. He thinks he’s getting better. He thinks maybe it’s helping him feel things out loud in real life, too. </p>
<p><em>Definitely louder, </em>Andrew tells him later, and Neil just laughs and moans into the palm pressed half-jokingly over his mouth while Andrew takes him apart. He hadn’t known he could feel so light, before this, before Andrew, before this strange old-and-new life he’s making. He feels like he’s floating now. </p>
<p>After, they change into sleep clothes in companionable silence. Neil smiles at the way Andrew’s hair sticks up everywhere, his careful styling for the premier ruined by Neil’s eager hands. Andrew pushes his face away, but presses a kiss to the corner of his jaw anyway, an acquiescence that only makes Neil smile more. </p>
<p>Still, Neil hovers when Andrew climbs into the bed. “Do you want me to take the guest room?” he asks. </p>
<p>It’s still relatively new for them, sharing, and they’ve been packed amid the bodies of friends and strangers alike for most of the day. He wouldn’t be surprised if Andrew wants space. But Andrew shakes his head, reaching a hand out from where he’s already buried under the covers and snagging Neil by the wrist, pulling him in. Neil goes. He lets himself be arranged until he’s curled against Andrew’s chest, too warm but unwilling to move from the comfort and novelty of the embrace. They won’t stay like this all night, but it’s nice for now. It’s more than nice. </p>
<p>Andrew presses his mouth against the top of Neil’s head, not quite a kiss, not quite anything else, either. “Stay,” he says. </p>
<p>Neil plans to.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>That's all folks! I had a TON of fun writing this. I've been getting back into reading and writing aftg this Quarantine, and I'm having a blast honestly. It's really kept me going lol. I really wanted to practice something shorter and punchier, fitting a more complete story into a shorter fic. My goal was 10,000 words, and I didn't go that far over, so I'm pretty proud of how I did! Thanks so much for reading, I'd love if you left a comment or kudos to let me know what you thought! &lt;3 &lt;3 &lt;3</p>
        </blockquote><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Do I put Andrew in sleeveless sweatshirts at every fictional opportunity? Yes. Ok, moving on. </p><p>Thanks for reading! I've already got 3/4 of this thing written, so I'm hoping to update weekly, but we'll see. Let me know what you think! Kudos, comments, and con-crit always welcome and appreciated. Also, find me on tumblr @ a-case-for-wonder, where I will actually be present again now that Lent is over. &lt;3 &lt;3 &lt;3</p></blockquote></div></div>
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